Gaspar;
but of what family, and from what part of Spain, no one can tell.
Mystery upon mystery! He may be the devil, and I feel my conscience
touched; for no good ever came from the devil's wages. I'll to my
confessor, and seek his counsel. He's a good man, and lenient too, to
such poor rogues as I. But he insists that I appear each se'nnight, and
sum the catalogue of my offences: perhaps he's right; for if I staid
longer away, _some_ of them--as I am no scholar,--say half--would be
forgotten. [_Enter Nina veiled, who passed by him, and exit._] There's a
nice girl! What a foot and ankle! Now had my master seen her, there had
been a job for me to dog her home. We lacqueys are like sporting dogs;
we follow up the game, and when they stop their running, make a dead
point, until our masters bag them for themselves. [_Nina returns.
Enter._] She's coming back. This time I'll poach a little for myself.
Fair lady, can I serve you? [_Nina stops, but turns away. Antonio
kneels._]

"Turn not away, fair angel, for since last
You bless'd my eyes, my thoughts have been on you;
For weeks I've follow'd, not daring to address you.
As I'm a bachelor, and free to wed,
Might I your favour gain, a life of tenderness,
To you, my love, I'd tender."

(_Aside._) I borrow'd that speech, excepting the last flourish, from my
master: but since he has used it like his cast-off clothes, 'tis mine by
custom. (_Aloud._) Will you not answer? I love you, madam, have loved
you long; and, by my soul! ne'er said so much before to any woman
breathing. [_Nina turns round and lifts her veil, Antonio turns away._]
(_Aside._) By all that's intolerable, my Toledo wife! (_Turning to
her._) Holy Saint Frances! It is, it is my wife!

_Nina._ Yes, sir, your injured, your deserted wife!

_Ant._ And are you still alive? then I am once more happy! (_Offers to
embrace her._)

_Nina._ Forbear! When was I dead, you wretch?

_Ant._ Why, Nina, I've a letter from Toledo, that states that you are
dead; you died a treble death, yourself and twins.

_Nina._ What?

_Ant._ Twins, my love, sweet pledges of affection. I've the letter in my
pocket; I've kept it there for months, pored over it for weeks, and
cried over it for days. (_Fumbles in his pocket._) Now I recollect it is
in the pocket of my gala suit. What an infamous forgery! Come to my
arms, my dear lamented, but now recovered wife!

_Nina._ Keep off, you wretch!